


Oak and Holly: A Vulcan's Folly

by pamdizzle



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Frottage, Intercrural Sex, Jim explains with sex, K/S Advent Calendar, M/M, Spock doesn't get it., Vulcans don't know everything, holiday porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-05
Updated: 2013-12-05
Packaged: 2018-01-03 13:53:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1071222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pamdizzle/pseuds/pamdizzle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the 2013 K/S Advent on LJ. This is an answer to a challenge issued to me by Wingstar to incorporate the Oak King and Holly King into a Spirk holiday story. </p><p>Somehow, it became somewhat porny along the way. Oops!</p><p>Graciously beta'd by the very talented CowgirlDressage. All remaning errors are my own. :) </p>
            </blockquote>





	Oak and Holly: A Vulcan's Folly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wingstar102](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wingstar102/gifts).



“You will not succeed in your endeavor to undermine my Reign,” the Holly King declared evenly as he straightened his posture, staff in hand. “Your time of rule has expired.”

The Oak King, with his brows furrowed tightly, opened his mouth to reply then shut it again with a snap. Finally, with a determined clearing of his throat and squared shoulders, he replied, “What are we, brother, but opposing spirits of the same face? Why should I not reign over every solstice and equinox, why should I bow to another facet of myself at all?”

“Cede to me, you will, Oak King, for that is indeed the nature of our union.” The Holly King tilted his head to the side, and added, “In addition, it is only logical that you step aside as you have always done. Death is little more than the systematic and necessary end to the cycle of life. I do not understand your persistence that this step of your existence should be avoided, especially bearing the fact that, according to the Celtic mythos, you will be reborn within approximately six point four standard months—an illogical but fortunate happenstance as such an outcome is often desired by, but not afforded to, any other organic beings in known existence.”

Oak King closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, releasing the breath through his nose in a long-suffering sigh. Nope, not helping. “Spock, damn it, you can’t keep changing the script! We’re Gods, not organic beings just because of the tree form—” Jim pulled off his thorn crown and chucked it onto the couch. “For fuck’s sake.”

Spock arched a brow as he silently tracked the Captain’s exit from the sitting room. He placed the staff of the Holly King and his crown beside Jim’s before following the human behind the divider that separated the bunk behind it from the rest of their quarters. “I do not understand,” Spock stated quietly. “Was I not supposed to ‘inject myself into the character’ as you suggested?”

The answering bark of laughter, though unexpected, was not wholly unwelcome despite not understanding the reasons for its arrival. “Yeah,” Jim agreed with a grin, “I did ask for it, didn’t I?”

“Indeed, which is why I altered sections of the script to include—”

“To break down the fourth wall between the stories we’re trying to tell and our audience—”

“The fourth wall?”

Jim chuckled again softly as he started changing from his uniform into a soft t-shirt and flannel lounge pants. Spock took the cue for what it was and began preparing for sleep as well, acquiring his own silk pajamas from the small dresser next to his side of the bed. Dressed, he turned back to his partner to find Jim already beneath the blankets, sitting up with his back against the headboard. Jim’s gaze shifted to him with a smile that was warm and inviting as he patted the mattress. Spock eased himself between the sheets and pillows to settle beside his bond mate.

Spock was aware that shared spaces, such as the bedroom, were often used a means of personal bargaining between partners engaged in disagreements. He was relieved that Jim did not prescribe to this human ritual, as they had experienced various levels of contention regarding upcoming ship events for the approaching ‘holiday season’. Despite when Jim was obviously annoyed, as he was now, he never made Spock feel unwelcome in their bed—never denied him the intimacy of touch and proximity.

“The fourth wall,” Jim began to explain, “is a metaphor for the illusion something like our play attempts to achieve. The audience, as you’re aware, knows it’s a play but once they start watching they’re suspending their disbelief in order to indulge in the fantasy that we, as the actors in the play, are trying to create.”

“I see,” Spock intoned. “I should not have referenced the mythos.”

“Exactly. Aaaaand, you probably could have left out the part about life cycles…” Jim further critiqued.

“I believe this would be easier if I understood the logic behind the conflict of the characters we are attempting to portray.” Spock turned an inquisitive stare to his mate, “Why would one being fight with himself over which version of himself will have reign during a specific period of any given year? And why does the fighting never cease—”

“Spock,” Jim said with a stalling hand, “you’re looking too far into the legend. It’s an old myth, and I know you haven’t studied every nuance of Celtic religion, but do you recall the significance of nature in their system of beliefs?”

“Of course.”

“So, take yourself out of this reality—this world—that you and I live in and put yourself into the shoes of the most ancient versions of humanoids of any species, on any planet before technology.” Jim gestured with his arm, as if to show him this world he had just described, and asked, “What do you see?”

Spock pursed his lips at the simplicity of the answer. “Nature,” he finally replied.

“Exactly,” Jim went on. “Imagine having questions about existence when all you can observe is the life and structures that surround you as they grow up from the earth beneath your feet. Questions about the sun, the seasons, death and birth—among the ancient Terran civilizations our play deals with—could only be answered by nature. Nature was the only system they could observe alongside their own lives, so it was only logical for them to assume the two were related, wasn’t it?”

Spock nodded, and Jim continued, “Eventually, they would give names to the changes they observed to add meaning and context to the struggles and elations they experienced, to give their lives amidst it all some kind of meaning.” Jim rested his cheek against the top of Spock’s head. “It’s human nature. Does that help at all?”

“Marginally,” Spock replied honestly. “The need for the conflict between the Holly King and Oak King continues to elude my full understanding. It is not logical to persistently war for power if the change is inevitable, given the dependence of each king’s power on light and dark in relation to duration of sunlight during specific seasons of the standard Earth year.”

“Alright, let’s try it a different way.” One minute, Spock was sitting up, the next he was on his back beneath his Captain, his arms pinned beside his head. “Flip us,” Jim ordered.

Spock complied, flipping their position easily. He pinned Jim’s hands above his head, and wedged one knee against the mattress just beneath the ‘V’ of the human’s thighs. “I fail to see a purpose in this activity beyond a desire to instigate coitus, which I needn’t currently rely upon telepathy to discern.”

“Mmm,” Jim hummed as he wiggled against the thigh Spock had pressed to his groin. A shock of arousal hit Spock in his adrenal gland and his next exhalation came out as a gasp. “Your advantage over me in Vulcan strength, Spock, is like the Holly tree. It’s evergreen, always there, always in excess of my own.”

Jim wiggled with intention now, raising his hips, however minutely, up and down the length of Spock’s silk clad thigh. “Yes,” the Vulcan managed to hiss, not sure what he was confirming--the motion of Jim’s body or his prior analogy. Both, perhaps.

Jim’s feet found leverage, pushing the human’s thigh up against Spock’s swiftly reacting phallus. He shuddered and curled forward, his body draping itself over Jim instinctively—habitually. Their lips met, open and hungry, with a light clashing of teeth. Spock’s hands moved to roam over cotton-covered ribs and muscle, to latch onto those undulating hips driving all vestiges of higher thought from the forefront of Spock’s usually well-ordered mind.

As a Vulcan, he should be shocked—ashamed—that it was so easy…so easy to let logic go. They were bond mates, had been now for two point seven eight years, and Spock knew if he opened the flood gates of their mated link, they’d be complete within seconds—it is how any other adult Vulcan would deal with such an illogical physical state: Meet the needs of the bond, satisfy the body. Quick. Efficient. But not at all what Jim wanted, and truthfully neither did Spock. ‘Draw it out,’ Jim always said. ‘Take our time. Feel it.’ And Spock always replied…

“Yes...” Spock allowed his mind to dance along the link, as his body grinded against Jim’s. Always Jim did this to him, always, always Spock allowed it, wanted it. “Jim, I—umph!”

Spock’s eyes snapped open to stare up at his mate, shocked. Jim had flipped them back over, his hips not halting their motion once. “Like I was saying,” Jim rasped, “you’ll always have the advantage in strength, it’s inherent to you but there are moments…” words dissolved into the quietest sounds of wet kisses just behind Spock’s ear. It was a spot that shouldn’t be erogenous, but it made Spock’s hips jerk nevertheless and his legs fell open to allow whatever access was desired. His body was submitting without his conscious permission.

“Always so responsive, Spock,” Jim groaned, before hooking his thumbs into the waistline of Spock’s pants and underwear. Both articles were yanked down and thrown over the bedside and he had but a moment of clarity to see Jim strip his own clothes off and toss them to the wayside before their bodies were back together, blessed contact reclaimed.

Spock was tellingly wet already, his phallus producing the fluid necessary for Vulcan intercourse. It was another break from the traditional mating habits of his species—an unmonitored function of the body. It was not a possibility he had entertained before Jim. He could control the secretions if he focused, but Spock did not award conscious effort to the endeavor. Jim had asked him not to hold back in these moments. So Spock allowed the impulsive reactions of his flesh—the shudders, the pulsing of nerves beneath his skin, the uncontrolled heaving of his lungs, every component of his desire—as Jim’s cock slid firm and wet against his own.

“Jim…Jim…” he moaned. Bits of emotions were slipping along the tendrils of their bond and Spock was tempted once again to open the door. To let it all in. To drown himself in the thoughts and emotions of his mate.

“This,” Jim’s voice sounded in his ear, breaking Spock out of the confines of his own need, “this is what it’s about. You could overpower me with your body or take me with your mind, but I have my own power. I have my own will. And there are moments…” Jim broke off with a grunted invective, still for a moment before shifting from between Spock’s legs to straddle the Vulcan’s hips. Gently, Jim shimmied his knees down, forcing Spock’s legs together as he busied their lips with sucking kisses and flicks of tongue.

When Spock was finally positioned as his mate appeared to want him, Jim swirled his cock in Spock’s fluid, guiding his pre-come over both their lengths, spreading it over Spock’s testicles and into the crevice between his closed legs and just beneath his scrotum. When they were both untidily slick, Jim pushed his length into the wetted crevice of Spock’s thighs and lowered himself onto the Vulcan. Spock’s own phallus was trapped satisfactorily between the flexing muscles of their stomachs and he threw his head back to moan unabashedly at the overwhelming physical sensation of it.

“Gods, you feel so good,” Jim praised as his shaft rocked back and forth against the sensitive underside of Spock’s testicles. “Cross…” he panted, “cross your ankles.”

Spock did as requested, rewarded with a throaty groan and infinitely more friction. “Ah—haah…oh fuck…”

Jim chuckled. “I’ll never get used…to hearing…you say dirty words…”

“I will say what—whatever you want me to—”

“Cede to me, Hah—Holly King,” Jim half chuckled, half panted against Spock’s lips.

It was both realization and exultation at once: “Ooooh…” Spock’s eyes snapped opened and he knew his face must be contorted into some semblance of the amusement he felt because Jim kissed him with smiling lips and his body writhed against Spock’s with renewed enthusiasm. Jim had never denied his glee at wrenching his emotion free; it was a feat few others had managed and of those few, never had anyone matched Jim in ease or frequency.

“You do want to, don’t you?” Jim asked against the tip of one ear, his voice octaves lower than it normally it was—a tone Spock knew only he could summon. “You’re so hard…rubbing yourself against me,” Jim filthily described Spock’s uncontrolled arousal. “Come on, Spock. Give in to me.” Jim was slipping out and back in between Spock’s thighs, his cock a constant source of hot and hard, wet and firm friction against Spock’s sack. It drove the Vulcan’s hips to action, making him want…making him need—more touch, more friction, more of their bodies squeezing his organ—to mark his territory like a pre-reform warrior. ‘Yes, yes,’ his mind chanted a chorus. ‘I want. I want. Take, take, take.’

“Come all over me,” Jim bade desperately. “Wanna feel you come…”

Too much…too soon, but too much. Spock closed his eyes and let go. His body lit up and his mind flew open and he heard-felt-saw Jim groan and flinch into stillness. Their cocks pulsed in unison, a wave that encompassed the whole of their united minds and twitching flesh. This was the pinnacle…what made the struggle of waiting worth it. An unhinged Vulcan, an undone human…sticky aftermath of euphoria.

Afterward, their bond buzzed with the chemical rush of post-coital crash. Jim yawned and praised, “That’s never not going to be amazing.”

“You liken the battle of the Holly King and Oak King to sex?” Spock asked when his mind was clear enough to process Jim’s overall analogy.

“Well…why not?” His mate chuckled. “Sex can be a power struggle in different ways. Look at us, for example. Wouldn’t you agree that it’s about knowing your partner; the way each king knows his opponent? You submit to me when it suits you, and I do the same but neither of us are consistent in our ability to control.”

“As a Vulcan, I should be consistent,” Spock stated.

“You have that ability,” Jim amended gently, “but because of the dynamics of our specific relationship, you don’t have to be. Remember, I gave you the control at first.”

“I see.”

“Do you?”

“The kings battle because it is their nature, whether they are conscious of it or not.”

“Exactly,” Jim said with a grin. “So next time we rehearse, you’ll pretend to give a damn about kicking the Oak King’s ass?”

Spock’s lips twitched with the need to return Jim’s smile as his fingers crept between the very backside in question. Jim opened for him without resistance and two of Spock’s fingers slipped inside to curl up and inward. “I shall attempt to convey just how much I care indeed.”

“Oh…” Jim twitched on the mattress.

“In fact, I believe an orderly demonstration is the only logical means.”

Jim licked his lips and replied with a line from their upcoming play, “So mote it be.” Then, “Do your worst.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I also write original m/m erotica fiction, if you're interested. You can find it [here](http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/index.php?cPath=55_1117)


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